That I Am

Guest Blogger, David Lintner.

David, is an extraordinary man. I LOVE his philosphy of life.

http://www.dflintnernlp.com/David_Lintner.html

David LIntner

David Lintner

For years, I asked the question, “Who am I?” For years, I got arbitrary, dissatisfying answers. Where do they come from, these answers? They come from a mind that thinks who has meaning, as if who were real.

Who gets caught in the illusion of a name, as if “David” were something attached to me like an arm or a leg. But it isn’t. It’s just a puff of air, or a word in print. “Oh, you look like a David,” someone says. What if the people I thought were my parents had looked at me and said, “Radish?”

I am not David.

David is just an idea people associate with my body when they see me or think of me, if they think of me at all. Say the word and watch me salivate in expectation. It is a signal that directs my attention toward those who speak it or print it on an envelope, a name tag, a roster. It conveys the deception of identity, if I allow it.

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Frayed Edges—Life in the Meat Sack

Anita-Wonkie

LIfe and Jello-Salad. Livin’ to the fullest.

If you’ve read any of my earlier blogs, you already know that I am well into geezer-hood and that I’ve lived a pretty full life—still do. When I look back on growing up and navigating the world from the 1950s to now, I have a perspective about living in a world outside of “normal.”

As an agnostic mystic, my experience is that we are an eternal consciousness walking around in a meat sack that requires constant maintenance. We navigate this meat sack through a complicated computer-organ enclosed in an endoskeletal shell. This cluster of jelly gives us parameters to tell the difference between safe and dangerous, right and wrong, or true and false—for each of us. I say “for each of us” because it seems that everyone’s jelly is unique.

The problem is that the computer that runs our show is both awesome in its power and frustratingly flawed in its lack of logic.

 spock-2“May I say that I have not thoroughly enjoyed serving with humans? I find their illogic and foolish emotions a constant irritant.” – Spock, from Star Trek, season 3, episode 7 (“Day of the Dove,” 1968)

I find it illogical that, if we achieve any clear perspective about life and the world we live in, it usually doesn’t come until we reach old age.

“Youth is the most beautiful thing in this world—and what a pity that it has to be wasted on children!” George Bernard Shaw

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Curry Pickles to Die For

Adapted from: All About Pickling – Ortho Books, 1975 These are my all-time favorite pickle. If you like mild curry flavor you will love these. Stage 1 4 pounds small to medium-size cucumber…

Source: Curry Pickles to Die For

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Beyond Your Personal Horoscope – Mundane Astrology

This is the oldest form of astrology. It is the astrology of nations, groups, world events, geology and weather. Personal astrology wasn’t even thought of before the 4th century CE. Although astrol…

Source: Beyond Your Personal Horoscope – Mundane Astrology

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The Jetsons

On the other monkey, some of the things have come true, and more: computers, surgery performed with lasers, and we have sorta-kinda gone into space. Uber high-definitionTVs are flat and thin and ca…

Source: The Jetsons

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Wrong Side Up From the Start

You may believe what you are about to read or you may think that I simply need medication. I’m not writing this to convince anyone either way. This is simply my life as I remember it. Whether you believe this is true or not, it has shaped who I am today and continues to drive the way I think and act in the world. My only hope is that you keep an open mind when reading about my journey  beyond the “Twilight Zone.”

One of the wisest statements I have ever heard was from an old man in India who was chronicling his extraordinary life. He said, “We are born into this world because we have not yet learned how not to be.” Those words rang true for me. So, here I am. I have not learned how not to be here.

I remember my birth. Later in life, I was surprised to find out that other people didn’t remember being born. The first memory I have is of watching my seventeen-year-old mother struggling to bring me into the world. I heard the doctor say, “She’s breach.” He then turned and gave instructions to a nurse.

I was watching, but not from a physical form. I seemed to exist in a nebulous state that could observe from many viewpoints in the room. I was at once near my mother and up in the corner of the room, behind the doctor and next to the nurse. There was a lot of activity as they tried to turn the babe around in my mother’s womb. I guess I was stubborn because they gave up and I was pulled into the world feet first. Oddly, I have never been able to stand on my head or do cartwheels. Coincidence? Maybe.

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How I learned to Embrace Insanity and Become a Real Writer – or – Down the Rabbit Hole

Anita Burns

yellow alien

I’ve written boatloads of non-fiction. My first published book was a cookbook, my second was on handwriting analysis. Since then I’ve written books on the esoteric arts, hypnosis, baking bread, and more. Although I write really good how-to books, I’ve always wanted to be more creative and dip into something deeper—to touch emotions, make people laugh, cry, and think.

In 2009 I discovered blogging and created Confessions of a Confetti Head https://anitaburns.wordpress.coma mind-dump of stories from my bizarre life, bitch-and-snivel, inspirational, and laugh-and-scratch. My original goal was to write the amazing adventures I’ve had and am still having as a native creature of this insane planet. I didn’t censor what I wrote and reveled in the freedom to just say what I really thought without being concerned about offending anyone or having to be tactful. Okay. It’s not that I’ve ever cared much about what others think of me anyway, but writing in this way was really liberating.

I was surprised when I discovered that people I didn’t even know read Confessions and liked what I had to say. When others started following me, I created more blogs. I was having a lot of fun. Comments from readers showed that what I wrote could move them to laughter, inspire, and touch their emotions. Readers gave me feedback on how much my stories meant to them. Even when someone hated what I wrote and railed at me, I loved it. At least they didn’t find it boring or unworthy of their anger.

once upon a timeNaturally, with my head full of the helium of delusion, I decided that I was ready to write a novel. My inspiration came from a dream I had decades ago. This dream flowed like a novel with no ending. For years I tried to complete the story but every time I wrote what I thought was the rest of the book, it sucked—big time. Continue reading

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